565 One Anguish—in a Crowd— A Minor thing—it sounds— And yet, unto the single Doe Attempted of the Hounds `Tis Terror as consummate As Legions of Alarm Did leap, full flanked, upon the Host— `Tis Units—make the Swarm— A Small Leech—on the Vitals— The sliver, in the Lung— The Bung out—of an Artery— Are scarce accounted—Harms— Yet might—by relation To that Repealless thing— A Being—impotent to end— When once it has begun—SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
